A King is born
by White Stone
Summary: Gimli is constructing a statue for Aragorn as a gift. He thinks about many things as doing son. I am re-posting this in it's edited form. Read and Review immediately.


Gimli son of Gloin got out his chisel: he would make a sculpture. His father was an excellent stonemason, and Gimli beamed with roaring thankfulness his father had taught him well.

He got out his tools and inspected them. He placed a hand on his head in observance of the heat.

The abrasive, sharp chisels (for details), scaffold, round hammers, and saws were all in place.

He had this joyous feeling that the end was near and Aragorn would rule in his rightful place.

The blocks of granite were large grey and wild. He had three blocks: one for the statuette's head, the middle and for the legs.

The statue would be of the King Aragorn of course, and Gimli grinned when he thought of what Aragorn would say when he would see himself in granite. Gimli did as usual before starting: he sensed the stone. He leaned again it, stroked its texture, and smelled its earthy smell.

It all came back to him now, the blood and sweat he and his father use to put in a project. To make a sculptor that was special. It was a hard material to work with and the quartz in the matrix made it a challenging material.

Gimli wished again to be with his kin, and hear their stories of battles and creatures that they encountered and that were never seen again. His favorite story growing up as a child was that of Balrog. The fiery thing crawled right from hell itself. Gimli smiled as he remembered the silly sound affects that one of the older dwarves used to make, a growling like a bear, but Gimli knew better. Balrog was a powerful thing not to be trifled with and was not just a silly fable.

And they say dwarves were created by Morgoth, Gimli thought upon recalling the legend about the dwarves being created by a wicked godlike being. How could Morgoth of created them? The dwarves were nothing like him or did bear his wicked intent to take over the free people's of Middle Earth.

Gimli knew his kind was steadily failing and the misconception of his race irritated him greatly. They thought them grim dirty folk. And can you believe people thought they came from stone?

Gimli was not ignorant of how real dwarrows children were brought in Middle-Earth.

As he chiseled slowly, he thought of the expression that should be on his face. He laughed out loud when he thought of a really funny one: Aragorn crossing his eyes together with his tongue out like he was trying to lap the air like a thirsty dog. Aragorn would not find this funny and would probably give him a kick the dwarf would never forget.

A stern look, okay.

Gimli shifted his eyes around and made sure not one was discovering his secret present to the weather- beaten future ruler.

Not a soul. Thank Mahal.

He thought then of his friendship with the tall elf from the Mirkwood region. How inconceivable that they would be friends! But Gimli found him to be kind and tough competition. He laughed what he thought of him on first observation. Ugly faced and stuck up, but then the fellowship strengthened their notions of each other and they became true comrades.

As Gimli heated the material and smooth is out he thought of how his own journey. It had not been smooth, in fact at times he wished his father had never called on him to represent him. Through all the fellowship had been through he was glad he made it through. He felt a certain sense of content as he cooled it down and chiseled it.

The lines that he now chisels were scraped away and shaped. He did seem to sense that this task would not be as difficult as he reckoned.

Gimli and Legolas planned to make adventures when the war was finished to the glittering caves. What would await he did not see. Apprehension filled him as the head structure was being formed.

But still Gimli wondered when he would again unite with his kindred and follow Dáin II.

But, Gimli knew he had changed inside. He wondered if he could make some difference of the relations between elves and dwarves. He glowed when he remembered his title from the Lady Galadriel: "lockbearer."

The blood of Durin the Deathless pounded from his vain as he wiped the sweat from his forehead. The face was done. It looked good, and he was pleased.

It looked like a King.

_Gimli replied, "Faithless is he that says farewell when the road darkens." (FotR, p. 294)_

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**Author's note:** I feel so tired. I worked on this one-shot by studying how granite is sculptured. I am very frustrated because this I am a total ding dong when it comes to the roads of grammar. I worked hard on this Charli800. Hope you are satisfied. I don't know if I made the changes that needed to be made. So, forgive me and correct me once again if this version is still stale.


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